On distinguishing the genre from the images it spawned

In the century since the term was coined, science fiction has generated a torrent of images. The robot, the alien, the mutant, the starship, the time machine: these are components of an aesthetic immediately recognisable even to those who have never read a science fiction story. Partly because those people are many, and partly because we live in an intensely and increasingly image-oriented culture, this SF aesthetic has arguably outgrown the genre which generated it.

This matters because the primacy of the science fiction aesthetic can lead to it being mistaken for, or used as a substitute for, the actual genre of science fiction. One result of this is that some people believe they dislike SF, without having read much - or any. Potential readers and lovers of the genre are missing out, because they are exposed only to the science fiction aesthetic, and not the thing itself. We can think of all this as another angle on the notoriously difficult question as to how to define science fiction. One thing that SF isn’t is its tangle of indelible images.

Four short novels from a pioneering woman in SF

In 1947, the Writer’s Digest published an article whose writer mused, "why is science fiction fun to write? At first blush, it doesn't seem attractive, particularly for a woman." That woman was Margaret St. Clair (1911 - 1995). At that time, St. Clair was just starting out in SF; her first story “Rocket to Limbo” had been published by Fantastic Adventures in November 1946. By the end of the ‘40s, she had published about 30 stories, and in the 1950s would add novels to her repertoire. As Rich Horton has put it, she “was one of the more noticeable early women writers of SF, but somehow her profile was a bit lower than those of C. L. Moore, Leigh Brackett, and Andre Norton.”

The back cover blurb applied to St. Clair’s novel Sign of the Labrys (1963) is an unedifying example of the absurd way women writers of SF could be marketed at that time:

She was likely singled out for this ridiculous description in part because of her interest in Wicca, the new religious movement into which she was formally initiated together with her husband in 1966. By that time, her career was already entering its final phase; she published no further novels after 1973 and lapsed into relative obscurity.

However, St. Clair is again becoming better known as readers of classic SF continue to revisit and explore some of the genre’s pioneering women writers. While it is often St. Clair’s short fiction which wins the most praise, this particular look at her work focuses instead on four of her novels. These four were published between 1956 and 1964, all of them acquired by Donald A. Wollheim for the historic and collectible Ace Doubles line. In them, St. Clair imagines four very different futures for humankind, taking in androids, plagues, mass deception, and a message from the beginning of time.

A classic showcase of conceptual breakthroughs

A quest or journey to seek answers about the world is an important recurring element in science fiction. Rarely has this been employed to greater impact than in Brian Aldiss’ debut SF novel Non-Stop (1958). A classic of its decade, it launched Aldiss’ career, which saw him become a leading figure in British SF for many years. 

Published in the United States under the title Starship, the novel is a key example of the enduring generation ship theme. Aldiss’ characters are trapped in a claustrophobic world which is as constrained conceptually as it is spatially. Their exciting physical journey is a framework for a chain of thrilling conceptual breakthroughs which transform their understanding of themselves, their world, and the universe.

Non-Stop is classic SF at its best - both an engaging adventure and a probing search for answers rooted in scientific speculation.

Querying the nature of the universe in Earth’s oceans

In Mexico, an egomaniacal astronomer is using a remote radio telescope to question accepted theories about the universe. In Japan, a young boy is handed over to the American embassy, apparently possessing the mind of a missing cosmonaut. Meanwhile in an obscure corner of the Soviet Union, great strides are being made in understanding a unique form of computation. All of these events are somehow linked to one enigmatic species: Physeter macrocephalus, the sperm whale.

Originally published by Gollancz in 1975, The Jonah Kit is the second science fiction novel by British writer Ian Watson. Like his debut The Embedding (1973), this is emphatically a novel of ideas, packed with challenging notions about cosmology, intelligence, communication, belief, and meaning. It is also panoramic in focus, with settings in the mountains of Mexico, Tokyo, Sakhalin Island in the Soviet far east, San Diego, and the ocean depths. It examines the perspectives of a self-obsessed scientist, a US government functionary, and even a young male sperm whale.

Winner of the BSFA Award for Best Novel, The Jonah Kit is another bracing exploration of ideas by Watson, peopled by deeply flawed characters who struggle, for better or worse, for great truths about the universe.

SF toolkit essentials, from the novum to the slingshot ending

Since science fiction emerged as a distinct genre in the first half of the 20th century, a large body of scholarship has built up around it. Exploring classic SF does not mean having to read academic papers, though - using the Science Fiction Encyclopedia (SFE) is a way to better appreciate the genre's history, techniques, and the development of its overarching structure, the so-called “megatext”. 

If we think of science fiction as a destination, then the SFE is the most valuable travel guide you could have. While a guide is not essential, the SFE offers some tips that can enhance your understanding and enjoyment.

What follows is a brief introduction - leaning heavily on the SFE and on the critic Darko Suvin - to five useful concepts in SF analysis: the novum, cognitive estrangement, the sense of wonder, conceptual breakthrough, and the slingshot ending. Each one is illustrated with examples from novels mostly previously covered on this site. Some of the terms may be familiar, others less so, and they are far from comprehensive. Think of these as suggested starting points for a deeper exploration of SF and its unique territory.

Something is unreal in small-town America

Written as an attempt to escape the treadmill of poorly-paid genre science fiction work, Time Out of Joint (1959) heralds Philip K. Dick’s growing preoccupation with unreal and deceptive worlds. It straddles aspects of his attempts at mainstream fiction, and the formula SF he was then pumping out for Ace Books. While unsuccessful on publication - with the strapline “a novel of menace” - Time Out of Joint can be seen retrospectively as a “bridge novel”, a step in Dick’s ascent to SF immortality.

While it eventually devolves into a thinly-described and routine genre SF scenario, the earlier parts of Time Out of Joint explore a uniquely deceptive environment. Opening in a small-town 1950s situation that is soon revealed to be an elaborate illusion, the novel addresses themes of nostalgia, paranoia, and the desire to explore, develop, and grow independently.

Scrambling for hope in a bleak near-future Morocco

Nekropolis (2001) is the fourth - and to date, final - novel by the American writer Maureen F. McHugh. Like her much better known debut China Mountain Zhang (1992), this is what could be termed “mundane” science fiction. McHugh’s characters live in an oppressive near-future scenario, but are powerless to change it - the best they can hope for is to live the best life they can.

Set in an alternate future Morocco, Nekropolis focuses on Hariba, a young woman modified for obedience to a contract owner. She begins to view the world differently upon meeting Akhmim, a synthetic human also condemned to a life of service. They long for a life of freedom, and to be together - but learn that these goals may be incompatible. 

A flawed but intriguing novel on the borderline between SF and realist fiction, Nekropolis is about control and agency, hope, and the costs of pursuing personal freedom in an autocratic society.

A soulful sequel to The Soul of the Robot (1974)

Sequels are an entrenched feature of contemporary science fiction. For publishers, the commercial appeal of sequels and planned trilogies is evident. It can be argued quite persuasively, though, that SF is at its best in the form of the one-off story or novel. Today’s writers must square this circle, and look for ways to extract thematic and narrative interest out of the continuations their publishers - and perhaps readers - are liable to want.

When Barrington J. Bayley was at his peak in the 1970s, it was instead the singleton novel that was strongly dominant. It was not until 1985 that Bayley published his first, last, and only sequel - The Rod of Light. A belated continuation of probably his best-known novel, The Soul of the Robot (1974), it again follows the adventures of Jasperodus, the only truly conscious robot in a neo-feudal era in which small states squabble in the long aftermath of a collapsed global empire.

Perhaps surprisingly, in The Rod of Light Bayley finds a way to extend his contemplation of the theme of consciousness - where it comes from, what value it has, and what lengths an intelligent but unconscious being would go to in order to acquire it.

A clash of the deep past and the near future

In the deep past, before the ascendancy of homo sapiens, a nameless young boy sets out on a rite of passage. He hunts a formidable bear - a dangerous quest which if successful will secure for him the bear’s powerful spirit, access to adulthood, and a name of his own. When the boy reaches the great creature, ready to do battle, both are enveloped in a strange, shimmering mist. The young Neanderthal believes they have crossed into the spirit world - but boy and beast have been transported hundreds of thousands of years into their future.

The Shadow Hunter is the debut novel by the American writer Pat Murphy. It was “obscurely published” in 1982 by Popular Library in the US, at that time winding down ahead of a three-year hiatus in new releases. In 1988, it was belatedly published in the UK by the then-recently established company Headline. This publication history did not help The Shadow Hunter receive the praise it deserves. This is a heartfelt, skilful novel of a clash between cultures, set in a vestige of nature in an over-exploited world.

Confinement and culture shock in a hyper-urban world

Robert Silverberg’s reflections on the sexual revolution, the ‘60s drug culture, and urbanisation are combined in his book The World Inside (1971). An assembly of six previously published stories, it is - like Keith Roberts’ Pavane (1968) - arguably a collection rather than a novel. 

Set in 2381, the stories each explore a future in which the world is rigidly bifurcated into two co-dependent societies. The World Inside focuses largely on the urban monads or “urbmons”, immense skyscrapers three kilometres tall and each home to 800,000 people - each one “a needle sticking into god’s eye”. Much of the rest of the world is dedicated to farmland, where a much smaller community produces the food for the vast and growing population of the vertical cities.

A product of Silverberg's prolific peak period, The World Inside is a broadly bleak look at life inside a pressure cooker of incredible population density, and a society closed off from past and future alike.